


Give and Take and Give Again

by frozenCinders



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: AU - modern era; no millennium items; no magic, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenCinders/pseuds/frozenCinders
Summary: When he was little, Marik would pray every night for someone to come take him away from the tombs, convinced that anything at all would be better than the life he was stuck with.It's not until years after he's stopped bothering to pray that his wish is granted.
Relationships: Thief King Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Smash and Grab

**Author's Note:**

> one quick note before we begin: they are, in fact, their canon ages (16) in this, which i feel the need to state only because it's apparently popular to age marik down to like half of tkb's age.
> 
> additionally, when "pounds" are mentioned, it's referring to the egyptian pound, which is a much weaker currency than the european equivalent, so please don't say "damnnnn" when you hear the price

The sound of things breaking in the night used to be commonplace. Marik almost tries to ignore it until he remembers with a start that his father is dead and thus cannot be the reason this time.

He's having trouble sleeping anyway, so he may as well go investigate. He'll probably find Rishid carefully collecting shards of glass in the... kitchen? No, now that Marik is standing in the hall, he realizes the sound didn't come from the kitchen. He takes a left instead and finds the treasury, where the cases that once held his family's jewelry now lie broken and empty.

That's more fitting for his family's "legacy" anyway. Marik glares at the shattered glass, a morbid curiosity to see what it would feel like to crunch it under his foot creeping up on him.

"I thought this place seemed lived in." Marik jolts and turns around, not recognizing the voice nor the face. "You must be a tombkeeper."

The stranger breaks eye contact only to spot the last of the tombkeeper jewelry, the two pieces he missed due to the fact that Marik wears them at all times-- his father's earrings.

"Who are you..?" The last time Marik saw a stranger in the tomb, things had ended horrifically.

The question seems to amuse the stranger, drawing a smirk across his face.

"A thief. A tomb raider. Your natural enemy, I suppose. H-heheh."

A thief..?

"... What do you want?" Marik asks, his voice and stance both firmer now.

"Right now?" He pauses, takes a moment to openly drink in the sight of Marik. "I already have what I came here for... but now I think I might want _you_."

The easy statement sets Marik's heart racing. Anyone in their right mind should be fearful, but Marik... Marik is _giddy,_ and he has to struggle to hide it.

"What do you do with the things you steal?" he asks, playing dumb. The thief raises a brow.

"I take them away, add them to my collection, and their previous owners never see them again. What did you expect?"

Yes, yes, yes, yes! Marik can't resist the wide-eyed excitement making itself known on his face, and it even seems to catch the thief by surprise.

"You're in luck, thief. Your spoils come willingly today."

There's a brief, stunned pause, followed by a long wheeze, and then the thief is laughing so hard that even the surface world must be able to hear him. But it doesn't matter, because he hooks an arm around Marik's waist and spirits him away before anyone can so much as confirm his existence.

It's dark outside, and Marik is slightly disappointed until he catches sight of the moon. He never knew it could be so bright, and the stars surrounding it are like errant grains of sand on a blanket. Still being dragged along by the thief, Marik raises a hand and swipes in a gentle arc at the sky.

"What are you doing?" the thief asks him, amused.

"Do you ever think of stealing the stars out of the sky? Do you think it would be possible?"

The wind feels so nice. The outside world is so open, so welcoming.

"H-hahaha! You're even more ambitious than I am, aren't you?"

His family might send for him. Marik would rather die than go back underground, but he might not have any say in the matter if he's approached while alone. However... if he were to, theoretically, have a nimble thief who is hopefully quite possessive of his things by his side, he might not have to worry about being dragged back.

"So, where are you taking me?" Marik asks, more casual than anything. The thief's pace has slowed, and he seems to acknowledge that Marik isn't about to try running home, letting him walk on his own now.

"Far enough away that we won't be found, first of all."

"And then?"

"And then wherever's convenient."

"..."

Marik has a lot of questions, but he doesn't want to push his luck. The thief might start to think he's trying to work against him, to get him caught. In reality, that's now the worst case scenario for Marik.

"Well, where are we going to sleep?"

"Not sure yet. We'll see."

"What, you don't have a home?"

The thief just smirks incredulously at him, as if he's laughing at his ignorance without even making a sound.

"If you migrate around, then where do you keep your treasure?" he asks, as if to justify his previous question.

"I have caches all around the country. If another thief finds them, so be it."

Marik's expression falls a little. He'd been hoping the thief would cling a little more tightly to his possessions. He wouldn't give Marik up so easily, would he?

"You seem sullen now. What's wrong? Is the life of a thief not as glamorous as you were hoping?"

"I don't know, I just thought..."

"That I'd be able to stay in one place, somehow?" the thief finishes for him, an unimpressed brow raised. Marik doesn't have a response for him.

It's still better than being stuck underground, he tells himself. Not having a home is better than _that_ home. It'd just be nice to have a bed, is all. And other belongings, since what little Marik had remains underground. Like a light went off in his head, Marik's face brightens as he thinks of his most prized possession-- a mere image of what he'd _actually_ like to possess. It brings him back to his fantasies of being anywhere but the tomb, and he always felt like it was the world at large under his tires, not just Egypt.

"Hey, let's flee the country," he suggests abruptly. The thief nearly double-takes.

"What is with you? First, you _want_ to be abducted, and now you're... bossy."

Marik laughs.

"It'll be easier to hide from Egyptian authorities if we're outside of their jurisdiction. Trust me, I've been thinking about how to sneak away all my life."

Marik expects to have to work harder to convince him, but the thief smiles.

"Never thought I'd pick up an accomplice," he says, a bit thoughtful. "Maybe I'd be interested to hear your plans."

So, for the first time, Marik spills all his methods of escape. He tries to keep his now redundant plans to sneak out of the tomb in the first place out of the discussion, but he can't help continuing to talk now that he has someone who's actually interested in listening. The thief lets him go on for as long as he likes.

"I think I like the boat plan," he says once there's a lull in conversation. "I've been on the open water a couple of times, it's nice."

"What's it like? How could something as big as a ship even float on water, anyway?"

The thief laughs, and Marik frowns, realizing his childlike wonder showed itself.

"What's so funny?" he growls, knowing full well that the thief is laughing at Marik for not knowing things that he could not possibly have learned yet.

"You've been sheltered from the world for far too long, haven't you?"

""Sheltered"," Marik scoffs. "I was _imprisoned_."

"Fitting that I'd get my accomplice through a prison break." His smile seems to grow even as Marik keeps glowering at him. "Cheer up, sunshine. You're free now."

Sunshine? Marik feels his expression get softer, almost timid, at the nickname, and the thief is chuckling at the change in his demeanor.

"I have a name. It's Marik," he says, covering up any hint that he likes the nickname. "What about you?"

"What, don't like your nickname, sunshine? Do you not know what that is, either?"

"Stop taunting me and tell me your name, fool!"

"So prickly. Have a lot of people to boss around in that tomb of yours?"

"Why won't you tell me?!"

The thief's expression wavers for a split second, but then he's as smug as ever again as he shrugs.

"Earn it," he says.

Marik gets it. The thief has done him a favor by freeing him, but Marik hasn't done anything to prove himself useful yet. If Marik were him, he certainly wouldn't want to carry around dead weight. He'd probably just tear the earrings from Marik's earlobes and spin around on his heel to leave without saying goodbye. Marik suddenly considers himself lucky that the thief has not done this yet.

"Alright, fine. I'll show you that I can be useful," Marik promises. "But two can play the nickname game, since I do need _something_ to call you. As soon as I think of something sufficiently annoying, I'll let you know."

The thief cackles.

"Why, thank you, sunshine. I'm flattered you care enough to give me one."

Marik opens his mouth to demand that the thief stop calling him that, only to close it on the off chance that he might listen.

* * *

"How much of this do you want to keep?" the thief asks once they've finally ducked into an empty house in town to rest.

"I'm surprised you're even asking."

"Hey, we're friends now, aren't we? Stealing from _you_ wouldn't do me any good."

Marik looks the collection over. It's not new to him, but he's seeing it quite literally in a new light. A combination of the moonlight from the window and the two candles the thief lit, in particular. He picks a few rings and slips them onto his fingers at random, then takes some of the arm bands. The thief smiles as he watches Marik adorn himself, and it seems to grow a little with each piece he takes.

"Hoard the rest or sell it, I don't care," Marik says once he's done making his selection. The thief doesn't respond at first, doesn't even look over the bag of jewelry to see what's left.

"Now you _really_ look like something worth stealing."

There's something about the way the thief says it that makes it sound like more than just a compliment. Marik takes it in silence, though, unsure of how he's expected to respond.

"Don't go outside without waking me up," the thief says, and then he kicks his feet up onto the couch he'd been sitting on, leaving the equally dusty bed in the corner for Marik.

The room is dim, even with the candles. The darkness unsettles Marik, but the idle noises outside and the thief's even breathing help distract him. Marik ends up sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, just listening to his breathing for the remainder of the night. At some point, he starts nodding off, head resting uncomfortably against his knees, but he doesn't truly sleep.

Marik tells by how silent the thief's breathing suddenly gets that he's woken up. He's feigning sleep, likely because he senses someone next to him, but, ironically, his instinctive silence is what rats him out. Eventually, he opens his eyes and sighs.

"Why are you sitting there?" he asks.

"... Why not? You didn't tell me not to."

"You don't strike me as someone who likes doing what you're told," the thief scoffs, and he's right. "Have you slept at all yet?"

"No," Marik answers, because he essentially hasn't. Dozing for a few minutes or so hardly counts.

"Why not?"

"Just... not tired." A lie, this time. In his room, Marik had lamps that were always on. Here, he has dim moonlight and two small candles that are so melted they'll probably go out any second now. The darkness terrifies Marik, and sticking to the thief's side is the only thing that makes him feel a little better.

"Are you a liar or just nocturnal?"

"Nocturnal? Gods, no."

"A liar, then," the thief smirks. Right again. "Asking about where we'll be sleeping only to claim you're not tired once we finally get there, hmm?"

He's got him, but the truth is humiliating. And besides, it's not like there are lamps just lying around that the thief doesn't feel like lighting-- even if Marik did tell him the truth, what can he do about it?

Marik gasps when the candles both go out at once. The light they'd emitted seemed dim while he had it, but they practically illuminated the whole room in comparison to this darkness now. A little noise escapes him, more helplessly frustrated than scared, and he hears the thief sigh again.

"Get up here," he says. Marik turns to look at him.

"What? Why?"

The thief doesn't answer, just stares at him and waits.

"Tell me why first," he tries again as he stands up.

This proves to be a mistake, as the thief easily topples him over on top of him with a quick yank of Marik's hand. Marik struggles as the thief adjusts him and turns onto his side, trapping Marik between the back of the couch and the thief holding him.

The strange thing is, it feels... nice. He's stopped struggling before he even realized, and the thief is now trying to maneuver Marik's hand in some way.

"What are you trying to do?" Marik asks, no venom whatsoever despite their little tumble just now.

"Your skin is cold and I'm not getting up to get a blanket for you. Put your arm through my sleeve."

An... unconventional method of keeping warm, but Marik silently appreciates it. He does as asked, shivering slightly when his arm brushes against the warmth of the thief's own, as if he didn't know it'd be there. It's only now that he notices just how nice the red robe he wears is. Probably stolen, too, but Marik couldn't care less.

Marik falls asleep within minutes, even after thinking that the breath ghosting just behind his ear would be distracting enough to keep him awake.

* * *

It's bright out when Marik wakes up, and suddenly he's giddy over his freedom again. He tries to be delicate in slipping away from the thief, but it's hard when they're sharing a sleeve and Marik has to climb over his body just to get off of the couch. The thief is stirring and grumbling before Marik's feet even touch the floor.

"Sorry, you made it sort of impossible not to wake you," he says, though he realizes that it was by design.

"Missed the sunrise," the thief says with a glance to the window. Marik walks over to it, hastily opening it and sticking his entire upper body out of it. There are some buildings obscuring his view, but he can see the light of day clearly. He fights a sappy smile.

"I won't miss it next time," Marik whispers to himself. When he finally pulls back inside, he bumps back against the thief, whom he didn't even notice getting up.

From a distance, the thief looks like he'd be a towering figure. Marik feels a little superior for being maybe three inches taller, but he'll save the gloating for some other time. The thief might not be a morning person.

"Getting breakfast," the thief mumbles, scratching the side of his head with one hand and getting his shoes on with the other. "Either come with me now or stay here, don't come trailing after later."

"I'm not staying inside for no reason. I'm coming with you."

"Figured."

The thief only really seems to wake up once they reach the market. Marik feels like a little kid again, shoving all other memories of _that day_ out of his head to remember the joy of discovering new things as he looked around at everything the town had to offer. He actually recognizes two of the shopkeepers' faces, but the rest all either blurred together in his memory or got replaced over the years Marik was gone.

"Do me a favor," the thief tells him more than requesting it, his voice low. "Do that innocent wonder act on that shopkeep there."

"That... what act?"

Marik suddenly feels a little exposed. He tries to be conscious of his expression, but the damn thief notices everything, like he can see right through the holes of any locks Marik might try to put in place, only to then pick them open in plain view just because he can.

"Go gawk at fruit or something. Just be distracting, you're good at it."

Marik wants to ask what that's supposed to mean, but he holds his tongue and glares at the thief, who walks away without him. Just having him out of sight already has Marik anxious, so he distracts himself by doing as he was asked.

With genuine curiosity, he examines each type of fruit. He picks up a mostly round fruit that's red with faint yellow striations all over. He holds it up to his face, but it doesn't really smell like anything.

"You can have a bunch of them for 200 pounds," the shopkeep tells him.

"Oh, uh..." Marik realizes he doesn't have any money, nor does he know the actual value of things. So, he deflects.

"Actually, this is going to be a stupid question, but... what is this?" he asks, and although he's putting up an act, the sheepishness is a little genuine.

"... What you're holding? It's just an apple," he says, taken aback. "Ah! No, of course, you mean what _kind!_ It's a Honeycrisp. A personal favorite of mine, and I always have to stave my wife off from raiding my stores of them."

Marik nods as if that were, in fact, what he was asking.

"They're rather expensive, I know, but if you'd like something cheaper," the shopkeep picks up a more vibrant red apple, "you could have a bunch of these ones for only 80 pounds."

That definitely seems cheaper, but the amount of money on Marik's person remains zero.

"Why are you still back here?" the thief suddenly appears to ask him. "Come on, we don't have time to shop."

Marik sets the apple down, brow furrowing in hesitant confusion, and follows the thief. Once they're about a block away, he turns around and places something in Marik's hand. It's an apple, identical to the one he'd been holding at the stall.

"Huh? But I didn't see you take anything..."

"Why would I take from the front? It's much easier to get at their back stock if you want to go unnoticed."

Marik files that away for future reference, figuring he'll need it.

"I think we should sell the rest of the jewelry. I at least want _some_ amount of money on me," Marik says, staring down at the apple in his hand.

"Alright, I'll pawn it off. It'll be easier to pay for a ship ride than to stow away in one, anyway."

Marik doesn't want to pay for just a _ride,_ he wants to own a ship and use it whenever he wants. More importantly, he wants to own a motorcycle.

Almost without paying attention, Marik finally bites into the apple. It genuinely surprises him, as he had no idea what to expect from something that didn't give off a scent. He can smell it now that he's bitten into it, though, and thin juice runs down his wrist.

"It's really good," he says, hating how his voice goes all light like when he was a little kid.

"No fruit underground, then?"

Marik is overtaken by a bitter scowl.

"No, it must not be easy to preserve. We didn't have anything like this."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"But the town is right here! I don't understand why we couldn't have fresh food in the tombs..." Marik realizes he's pouting now but doesn't care enough to stop. "Even if _I_ wasn't allowed on the surface, they could have hired someone to bring us fruit once a week or something."

"Well, now you can eat whatever you like," the thief reminds him. Marik smiles at him, half-appreciative and half-sarcastic, and takes another bite.

* * *

Marik spent the day being properly shown around by the thief-- less for the sake of getting to know the town and more just to educate him about the surface world. Some things are consistent across most places in the world, after all. Marik still thinks electricity is the most fascinating discovery he's made.

They're walking back to the dusty, abandoned house they'd slept in last night, with the thief claiming that it'd be easier than dragging Marik along with him to find a new location. He was sure to note that staying in the same place more than once isn't something Marik should get used to. He honestly, genuinely doesn't care where the thief takes him, so he follows without a fuss.

Marik is already vaguely unsettled just from it being dark out, and the lone stranger on the street's gaze lingering on him for too long sets him completely on edge. The thief, perceptive by requirement, holds Marik closer by an arm around his shoulders and shoots a sneer at the loitering stranger. They quickly find an excuse to distract themselves, successfully driven off. Strangely, Marik's heart races even _more_ now that the potential threat has been neutralized. He can already tell he's going to grow addicted to the thief's protection.

The thief's hand remains on Marik's shoulder even once they're alone, and Marik puts in an effort to stay as close to the thief as he can manage without the two of them tripping over each other. He's hugged his siblings before, when he was much younger, but there's something different about the thief's warmth. Marik scoffs to himself. He feels conflicted and unhappy towards his own family, yet the thief who came to rob him makes him feel safe and free.

Said thief is now looking at him curiously. Marik meets his eyes, but ends up drifting down a bit to stare at the scar on the thief's cheek. The thief raises his free hand and taps the scar with two fingers.

"Like it? Blame the pharaoh," he says, and suddenly, Marik understands his instinctive trust towards this man.

"I already blame the pharaoh for plenty," he states bitterly. "I suppose one more thing can't hurt."

"Oh, I like you. What better way to bond than by finding a common enemy?"

The thief's smile is charming. When he finally takes his hand off Marik's shoulder, Marik finds that he'd already grown so used to its warmth that it feels wrong not to have it there. He covers the spot with his own, trying to preserve the feeling, but it continues to spitefully fade away.


	2. Two "Kings"

The next morning, Marik doesn't have to slip away from the thief again; he took the bed that time and stared at the candle on the bedside table until he fell asleep. He's still careful as he tiptoes past him to the window, opening it slowly and grimacing when it creaks with age.

It's still mostly dark out, but the very beginnings of sunlight are starting to leak into the sky. Marik sits up on the windowsill and stares, watching intently as the light fills the sky and gradually shifts its color. It's the greatest thing he's ever seen in his life.

Marik remembers the thief's nickname for him. To him, sunlight is so common, it must be unremarkable. To Marik, though, the name feels unspeakably intimate now, like it implies he's somehow as precious to the thief as the sun is to Marik.

That can't possibly be true. It's just a silly name he calls him to tease him. That reminds him, he needs to think of a suitable nickname to get back at the thief with. Moonshine, so they can be opposites? Wait, he vaguely recalls something else being called that. Maybe the name should be secretly symbolic, even if it just seems annoying on the surface...

Marik's attention is grabbed instantaneously by a chopping sound behind him. He doesn't know what he thought it was going to be, but he sighs in relief when he sees that the thief is just cutting open an orange, apparently wide awake all of a sudden. He'd taught Marik all the names of the fruit he'd stolen, and he let him try each one and pick his favorites. Strawberries and grapes are nice, but Honeycrisp apples are Marik's favorite, he thinks. Oranges, he doesn't like so much. The one he tried made his tongue go a little numb.

It dawns on Marik that the most he's done for the thief so far is act as a distraction. He looks back out the window for a moment and then hops off the sill and closes it. He needs to make himself useful.

"I think I should try it next time," he says, a little quiet.

"Try what?"

"Stealing."

He quits fiddling with the orange, fixing Marik with a serious look.

"What?" Marik prompts, defensive.

"I'm not getting made because of your inexperience. You'll try it when I say so and not a moment sooner."

Marik seethes, glaring at him.

"Who's the bossy one, again?" he grumbles. The thief smiles at his complaint and finishes separating the little orange slices.

"Why cut it into such tiny pieces?" Marik asks, walking a little closer just to see.

"It's how the orange is built. I thought it might like to be taken apart the way it was showing me."

The thief's smile is a little mischievous now.

"It's a piece of food, it can't "like" anything," Marik says.

"H-heheh. You can't know that."

"Who would like being taken apart, anyway?"

"You'd be surprised."

Since the thief is obviously in a mood, Marik leaves him to his orange slices. The last of the fruit is another orange, a green apple, and a nectarine. The orange would make him tingle uncomfortably again and the apple would just feel inferior to his preferred kind, so he picks the nectarine.

"I'll get us something else today," the thief says, watching Marik try to peel the nectarine with his nails before taking it from him. "Maybe some meat."

"Uh..."

The thief spares him a tilt of the head as he skillfully peels the nectarine with a knife-- a different one from the knife he'd used to slice the orange, thankfully.

"I don't mean to be fussy, but... could we get something else?" Marik asks.

"For you, sure, but I've been having cravings."

That was easier than expected.

"What would his royal highness like, then, if he's too good for meat?"

Ah, there it is.

"I don't know. Anything. I just don't like meat."

"Hm. And here I thought we were compatible," the thief jokes, and it hurts a little for some reason. "Then again, I suppose it's good to have different tastes. You can throw all your meat to me."

"Well, if I'm so "royal", maybe I'd rather not touch it at all," Marik jokes back, crossing his arms in a faux huff.

The thief smiles, amused that Marik is playing along with him. He holds out the peeled nectarine, only to move it as soon as Marik reaches for it.

"Hey!"

"Why don't we switch roles, just to see? I'll be the spoiled brat of a prince, and you'll be my humble servant."

He starts out offended at the accusation of being spoiled, of _all_ things, but then the implication of the second half sets in.

"You're not... I'm not trying to make you feel like a servant," he says. "You said it yourself: I'm your accomplice. We're partners."

The answer seems to satisfy the thief, and he bumps the nectarine against Marik's hand, allowing him to take it this time.

"And... I don't know how serious you are about the whole "prince" thing, but... you know I'm not one, right?" he asks just to be sure.

"I figured. But you could be," the thief shrugs. "You look like one."

What does that mean? What does a prince look like?

"Plus, there's your name."

Ah. Being named for a word meaning king will, of course, give off a royal impression...

"How about I stay a prince, and you can be the king of thieves?" Marik suggests, and the thief bursts into laughter as soon as he says it.

"You know, you have good intuition, sunshine," he compliments, but Marik isn't sure what he means. He considers asking, but finds himself distracted by the nickname again. Then he thinks that there may come a day where Marik is forced back underground, and he'll never see his life-giving namesake ever again. Anxiety weighs down on him and he brings up something he's just been taking on good faith.

"You'll, um..." Marik starts, embarrassed to even have to say it. "You'll keep me safe, right?"

"Where's this coming from?" the thief asks, serious again.

"It's been on my mind from the start..." Marik admits. He keeps his eyes downcast.

"I'm certainly not going out of my way to hurt you, sunshine," the thief says. That's not what Marik is looking for.

"But if my family finds me..."

"Oh, I know they'll steal their little prince back at the first chance I give them."

"Exactly, yes. Before you came along, I'd only been above ground once, and I... well, I wasn't the only one who was punished that day."

Marik's heart pangs, already missing his siblings. But, his freedom is more important to him. It's not like his father is still alive to punish them for losing track of him, anyway.

"So basically, you've decided that I'm your bodyguard," the thief surmises.

Marik stops and wonders if that's a step too far.

"If... that's alright..."

The thief laughs at him-- smug, but not mocking, not angry.

"Look at you, trying to step down from your high horse. Don't fall, sunshine."

He probably isn't intending to leave him behind, but the way the thief turns and starts to walk away feels like a severance. Marik takes a few quick steps after him.

"I'll follow you anywhere, so please don't ever leave me behind," he says. The thief freezes, and when he turns back to look at Marik, he looks genuinely confused.

"I suppose no one ever taught you not to wear your heart on your sleeve," he says, eventually. "You won't be left behind as long as you can keep up."

That's enough to lift the weight from Marik's shoulders, and following him out the door is suddenly easier.

* * *

As soon as the sun sets, the thief starts steering their path to a residential district.

"Are we looking for a place? This early?" Marik asks.

"Want a shower. Besides, you're afraid of the dark anyway."

Ugh, is it that obvious?

"Well, why can't we just do it at the other house?"

"No running water there. We'll have to find somewhere else."

Marik follows the thief, stills his heart as he watches him slip through alleys and pick the lock to the front door of an apartment. There's something so _fluid_ in the way he moves, the way he manipulates his own momentum to slink around corners or glide right through a tight space, and Marik wonders if his own clunky movements could match his one day. He can't even see what the thief does with his hands, just knows his end goal.

Marik tries his best to keep his footfalls as completely silent as the thief's, and practicing sneaking around in the tomb helps him. He holds a hand out for Marik to wait and disappears further into the darkness of the apartment. Marik's hands cling to his own arms, bidding himself to focus completely on whatever light he can see. The first thing he finds doesn't seem to actually _emit_ light, but curious red numbers glow in the dark. He stares, fully distracted, and gasps when the 8 suddenly changes to a 9.

9:39? Is that... is that the time? Do people on the surface have floating, glowing numbers to tell the time instead of analog clocks? That's way cooler!

"Nobody here," the thief says. "Now for the test..."

He flicks a switch and the entire house seems to illuminate. The tension leaves Marik's shoulders and he walks closer to the red numbers to investigate.

"It has electricity, at least." Marik hears running water behind him, just for a brief moment until it's turned off again. "And water. There you have it."

The numbers don't actually float-- they're being displayed on some little terminal above the stove. Marik touches it just to see if he'll be able to feel the number change, but the surface is completely flat.

The thief watches him quietly before moving past him and opening a small door. A light goes off in the tiny room he's opened, and Marik leans over to see what he's doing.

"Oh, it's a pantry," Marik says. The thief raises a brow at him and then smirks.

"Come here," he says, beckoning him with one hand and closing the door with the other. In its place, he opens the smaller door above it, but there's no light in that one.

Marik walks to him and notices that it's suddenly colder by the thief. Seeing what looks like steam rolling out of the box, Marik gets close enough to touch the inside, recoiling at how cold it is. It's only out of surprise, though, and he now lays both his hands flat on the bottom of the box.

"H-haha! I thought you'd get a kick out of that!"

"What is this..?" Marik asks, leaning forward to let the cold embrace his face. It feels so nice...

"It's a freezer. The bigger one under it is a fridge. Refrigerator." He taps the fridge.

"And they keep food cold?"

"Good. But they also keep liquids cold, and when liquids get cold enough..." he reaches into a box within the freezer, filled with... well, whatever they are, they're noisy. "They turn solid."

"... Well, I know what ice is."

Not that he's ever seen it in person. He supposes the wide semi-circle shape the thief is holding must be a piece of ice.

"Shame. I would have loved to have seen the look on your face at that reveal."

Marik takes one of the ice pieces from the box and, out of curiosity, tries to bite it. It doesn't give under his teeth at first, but more pressure has it chipping and breaking. It becomes a little painful to hold it after a few seconds, so Marik alternates hands.

"The first thing you do with a new item is bite it, hm? I feel bad for the first person you ever saw."

Marik grins.

"Actually, come to think of it, I'm not certain I've ever seen another person," he lies. "Better investigate."

The thief smiles back, leaning away when Marik playfully snaps his teeth at him.

"Alright, enough playing around, it's time to shower. Who knows how much time we have?"

Somehow, it didn't dawn on Marik until now that he's in a stranger's home.

"Um... Actually, I'm not sure I..."

"Oh please, _now_ you're having a moral dilemma?"

"No! I just don't think I'm comfortable getting naked in some stranger's house!"

"H-hahaha! You'll have to do it at some point, Marik!"

"... Urgh..."

He has a point.

"Tell you what? I'll guard the door for his highness so nobody can catch you indecent," the thief offers, even if it's with more than a hint of sarcasm. It's because of his attitude that Marik feels the urge to reject the offer. He closes the freezer, leaving a smattering of drops of the melting ice from his fingers as evidence that he'd touched it, and drops the rest of the ice into his mouth.

"Fine," he says around the ice, muffled and impetuous.

"Me first, though, so extend me the same favor," the thief says, chuckling at the glare Marik aims at him.

Marik would rather have some time to explore before he bathes, anyway. The last house was little more than a hut; tiny and sparsely furnished, but serviceable. This apartment is very lived in, with much more space and furniture.

"Oh shit," Marik mutters under his breath, running to lock the front door as an afterthought. Wait, the owner of the apartment would have a key, anyway. Marik smacks his forehead and shakes his head.

How is he supposed to stand guard? That part isn't actually difficult, but what if someone shows up? Marik has never been in a fight, and would have no idea what to do. Would he... have to kill the person? Would that cause more problems than it would solve?

He spends the entire time the thief is in the shower trying to figure out what he'll do if someone shows up... but nobody does. The thief comes out in different clothes, his normally fluffy silver hair weighed down by water. His red robe isn't on him, and Marik is able to more accurately see the shape of his body. The robe definitely makes him look bigger-- which he needs, considering his height.

Marik snickers behind his hand, stifling it before the thief can give him trouble over it.

"This way," the thief says, walking back down the hallway. Marik hopes he realizes that he doesn't need his hand held through the bathing process. And he _certainly_ doesn't want someone to try to wash his back for him.

Marik follows, albeit a little suspicious, but drops his guard once he sees clothes laid out by the sink for him.

"Toss the ones you're wearing out the door once you're undressed and I'll see if we can get away with doing laundry," he says as he grabs his robe. Marik hears him walking away, but he remembers the thief tapping his scar the day before and makes a decision.

"... Do you want to see what I blame the pharaoh for?" he asks without turning to face him. The footsteps stop, and then there's a quiet tap as the thief adjusts.

"Sure, why not?"

Marik braces himself; he's never shown this to anyone but his family, who saw it regardless of his own will anyway. He lifts his shirt up and over his head, holding it at his elbows for a moment before finally slipping completely out of it. The thief is walking towards him.

"Is that... that isn't ink," he notes, barely above a whisper. "Gods..."

No. Marik wishes the makeshift tablet of his back could have just been decorated with ink instead of carved with a burning knife. He's sure it still would have hurt, but Marik won't ever forget the sheer amount of blood he lost during the process, how feeling it pool under him convinced him he was inching closer to death with each delicate line that was sawed into his skin, and probably into his bones. No matter how desperately he begged through the bit they'd gagged him with, it just wouldn't stop.

"Never thought such a pretty boy could have even more scars than me," the thief comments, abandoning the idea of pity. The almost offhanded dismissal helps ground Marik in the present, and he appreciates it.

"Wait, pretty?"

"Yes. Did you not have mirrors in the tombs?"

Shit, he said that out loud, and he can just _hear_ the smirk in the thief's voice.

"We... did, I just... I wasn't expecting it, that's all," Marik says. He knows the thief is just taunting him, but his face heats up a little anyway.

"Enjoy your shower, sunshine," the thief bids, finally walking out of the room.

There's that nickname again. Marik doesn't think the thief has ever used his name even once so far. He's probably forgotten it.

Wait...

_You'll have to do it at some point, Marik!_

Wasn't that what the thief said earlier? Did the first time he ever said Marik's name really go unnoticed by either of them?

He shakes his head, returning to the task at hand. Like the thief said, who knows how much time they have.


	3. First Step to "Revenge"

When Marik comes out of the bathroom, dressed, refreshed, and still very damp, the house is practically bustling with noise. There's some large machine making repetitive, rhythmic sounds and Marik walks past it into the kitchen, finding the source of the rest of the noise. The thief is cooking something in a pan, and it smells great.

"What is that?" Marik asks, getting closer to try to see what he's cooking.

"Saw a bunch of frozen vegetables in the freezer earlier. I figured I'd be nice and make you something."

It's for Marik..?

"I... appreciate it. Thank you," he says, and he hopes he sounds as genuine as he feels. The thief shrugs off his gratitude either way.

"No meat, your highness," he says when he sets the plated vegetables on the table for Marik.

"You keep calling me that. Do you want me to order you around or something? Are you into that?"

Nevertheless, Marik sits in front of the plate.

"Oh, yes, I get all my jollies from abducting boys from tombs and having them tell me what to do."

"That's a very particular preference. It's a good thing we're so "compatible"."

The dish is really good, and Marik practically melts at the first bite.

"Hey, what's this called?" he asks. The thief tilts his head.

"... Stir fry? It's not called anything, really. I just put some food together."

He's going through the fridge again now, crouching down to check the drawers at the bottom.

"Oh, _yes,_ I didn't even notice this before!"

He pulls out a wrapped container of... Marik catches a glimpse of the label to see that it's pork. He isn't interested in the food itself, but he does watch the thief cook while he eats the dish he made for him.

It's odd. Rishid had been preparing Marik's meals all his life, but it feels different when the thief does it-- special, somehow. It doesn't hurt that he seems to simply be good at it.

"We'll leave after the laundry is done," the thief says, leaning against the counter beside the stove while the meat cooks. "Can't imagine we have much time left now."

A glance to the clock above the stove tells Marik that they've been there for over an hour already.

"Oh, you know what..." the thief mutters before wandering away from the kitchen. Marik follows him out of curiosity, carrying his plate with him.

"Here, sit on the couch," he says, looking around for... something. Just as soon as Marik obeys, the thief picks up a small black bar and aims it at the screen in front of Marik.

As it flicks to life, he suddenly remembers when he first visited the surface and Ishizu told him about televisions. This one doesn't depict a motorcycle, though, just a man trying to show off the qualities of the product he's selling. The thief looks down at the device in his hand and aims it at the television again. The screen goes black for a second, and then a different scene is playing out. Another man is yelling up the stairs of his house at an off-screen woman, and laughter sounds from people Marik can't see.

The thief shrugs and sets the bar down before returning to the kitchen. On the television, the man flops onto his sofa in a pout after being told to be patient by the woman upstairs. After a while of watching the antics of what Marik soon learns is a married couple, the thief comes over and sits next to him.

"Who's laughing?" Marik asks after hearing it for probably the tenth time. It seems odd that the people onscreen aren't acknowledging it in any way besides briefly pausing whenever it happens.

"It's pre-recorded laughter, supposedly belonging to the audience. That's how comedies work on TV. Not that this is a very good one."

Marik doesn't really have a frame of reference to judge the quality, but he's fine with what he's watching. He finished his food a little bit ago, but he stays put, empty plate in hand.

He looks away from the television only because he can feel the thief staring at him. He's smiling when Marik catches him. It's not a mischievous smile, like when he's about to start poking fun at Marik, nor a smug one. He's just... smiling.

Marik stares back, still listening to the woman trying to sell a toy in the background. Eventually, the thief sighs and looks to the television again.

"What?" Marik asks.

"Did you receive an education underground, sunshine?"

"... Yes?" he answers, thoroughly confused.

"I'll hazard a guess that you didn't graduate at the top of your "how to mind your own business" class."

What a convoluted way to tell Marik to fuck off. He rolls his eyes and sets his empty plate on the arm of the couch, resting his elbow just behind it to provide his head with support.

A loud buzz goes off and Marik tenses up, hoping to the gods that it wasn't an alarm of some kind. The thief seems calm and casual enough when he gets up to investigate, though, so Marik lets himself relax.

When the thief comes back, he collects Marik's plate for him.

"We'll leave in about another hour. Clothes'll be dry by then," he says. Marik appreciates the warning but, while he does understand the need for it, he hates the time limit. It'd be nice if they could just _have_ a house like this, instead of stealing every second of luxury from someone they haven't even met.

"Are we going back to the other house or finding a new one?" Marik asks. One with electricity might be nice, but an abandoned house is safer, if darker.

"... Eh. I suppose three nights in the same house is fine. Won't be a fourth, though. We're leaving town tomorrow."

He doesn't know how he's going to stave off his fear of the dark tonight. Maybe he'll try the candle trick again, but even that didn't bring him much comfort. Still, it was better than nothing.

... But not as good as when the thief held him against the couch. Marik doesn't even know how he could possibly begin to ask the thief to do that again. He'd probably laugh at him and tell him some dumb joke. Plus, he already does so much for Marik, and he dares ask for more? Spoiled prince, indeed.

Marik's mood suddenly drops, the wonder of the television no longer holding his attention. He wanders to a window instead, peeking through the blinds at the empty street below. The street lights that keep the road bright comfort Marik, but there isn't one close enough to the window of the other house to make a difference.

He has to conquer this stupid fear on his own, but the idea of even trying scares him as well. He sits back down and loses himself in his thoughts, squandering his free time. When the thief tells him it's time to go, he comes a lot more willingly than he expected himself to. Marik just wants to get the night over with so he can bask in the light of a new day.

When they reach the house, crossing an especially dark street to get to it, Marik's fear flares up again. If he can't have a repeat of the other night, maybe he can cling as tightly as possible to the memory of it.

"Wanna switch?" he asks the thief. "You can have the bed, if you want."

"Oh, how gracious," he snorts. "Take the bed, sunshine."

Slowly, Marik crosses his arms.

"... What if I want the couch?"

"Then you'll have to deal with me."

"Maybe I will."

The thief smirks at him and lies on his side, practically beckoning Marik over. He follows and, once he's close enough, the thief pulls him down just like the other night. Marik doesn't struggle at all this time, just adjusts into a more comfortable position.

"Was it worth it?" the thief asks, smug. Marik lays his cheek on the thief's chest and remains silent.

He closes his eyes and bristles when he feels a hand ruffle the hair at the back of his head. It stops almost as soon as it starts.

"Could you do that again?" Marik asks without knowing why he even liked it.

Instead of repeating the exact action, the thief rubs at the top of Marik's head with the tips of his fingers, bringing the rest of his hand down to pet him. Marik sighs at the touch and relaxes completely.

* * *

Marik doesn't wake up first the next morning, as evidenced by the significant lack of body heat under him. He props himself up on his hands and looks around, seeing the thief at the window. He has his shoulder propped against the frame and his eyes are aimed out of it, but he doesn't really seem to be looking at anything. It looks more like he's thinking about something.

"Something wrong?" Marik asks. He clears his throat when he hears how scratchy his voice is.

"Just waiting on you," the thief says, looking at him now. "I sold off the rest of that jewelry, by the way."

On the arm of the couch closest to Marik's feet, the bag that previously held his family's jewelry sits lopsided. He peeks inside and sees paper bills.

"Actually... not all of it," the thief admits.

"Huh? Did you like one of the pieces?"

The thief walks towards him, pulling a necklace from the sleeve of his robe. He unclasps it and brings it around Marik's neck, his hands brushing against Marik's skin when he pulls them back. Marik doesn't recognize what feeling he's drowning in now, but it's strong.

"... This isn't fair. At least keep two so I can get back at you," Marik says, drawing a huff of laughter from the thief.

"Putting jewelry on someone doesn't constitute as "getting back" at them."

"Well, fine. I'll find something else."

"To express your fathomless gratitude towards me?"

The thief is clearly joking, but the answer is yes. Not that Marik will admit that.

"Oh, please. What you just did was brimming with intent. I bet you were imagining it was a collar," Marik pretends to accuse.

"I wasn't, but I think I will, now that you've suggested it. Care to let me do it again?"

"Once is enough!"

"Oh, nonsense. I'm sure draping jewelry on you will never get old. It suits you to sparkle in the sunlight."

Marik doesn't understand how the thief can just... say things like that so casually, even as a joke. Marik will have to step up his game if he wants to be able to match him.

"You said we're leaving town today?" he asks to change the subject.

"Yes. We'll be moving closer to the coast so we can enact that whole "fleeing the country" plan of yours. We'll take a cruise to Italy."

"To where?"

"A pretty little European country. You'll like it."

The thief smirks at him and Marik feels like he's being fooled somehow.

"We'll probably be on the water for a good while. We'll both be sick of it by the time we arrive," he says, looking back out of the window. "Hope you aren't prone to motion sickness."

"Sickness from motion? I move around just fine."

The thief laughs.

"No, Marik, I don't mean when you're walking around. You won't know if you're prone until you get on the ship."

The thief used his name again-- Marik paid attention this time. Something about it makes him perk up.

He wishes he could return the favor, but the damned thief _still_ hasn't revealed his name. He told Marik to "earn it", but what does that entail? If he asks, the thief will surely give him some vague non-answer and find some way to insult him in the process.

As they're leaving town, Marik spots a stall selling various little accessories. On display is an open-ended silver ring with a crescent moon on one side and a star on the other. The shopkeep is busy helping a woman pick out a pair of earrings to wear to her wedding.

When he glances at the thief, he's stopped in the middle of the road, standing there with his arms crossed as he waits for Marik.

"Sorry, I got distracted," Marik says as he catches up to him.

"There will be plenty of time for sightseeing later, so let's stay on target right now," the thief says.

Marik doesn't even get excited at the prospect-- not with the adrenaline already pumping through his veins from a moment prior. It seems not even the thief noticed.

So, when he least suspects it, Marik will present him with the stolen ring. Maybe that will earn him the right to know his name.


	4. History and Grudges

No house this time. The thief is napping on a park bench while Marik hides in the streetlight beside it. It's better than being trapped indoors in the darkness, but he still struggles a bit to remain calm. He'll have to sleep at some point, but the thief even said he just wanted to take a quick rest, that he'll find them a place to sleep when he can keep his eyes open.

The thief had always been unmoving in his sleep thus far, but he seems twitchy tonight. His limbs flinch and seize and Marik can only assume he's acting out a fight in his dream. His breathing is uneven, like he keeps holding his breath and then trying for a second or two to catch it.

Not knowing what else to do, Marik walks a little closer.

"Hey..." he calls softly. It's not like he's never gone and disturbed someone's slumber before, but he's hesitant to do it to the thief. If he is indeed fighting someone in his dream, who's to say he won't mistake Marik for an enemy if he wakes him up?

His weak attempt at waking the thief goes completely unanswered. The last thing Marik wants to do is touch him right now, so he keeps calling to him from afar. Eventually, it starts seeming like the violent jerks of his head are in response to Marik's voice.

Then, suddenly, the thief somehow manages to flip over to the ground behind the bench, and his eyes are wide with terror as he clutches the edge of the bench's back, peering over the side at Marik. Gradually, his expression calms, his grip softens, and his breathing slows.

"You didn't see that," he states.

"... See what? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

The thief scoffs.

"Let's get going," he says. Marik takes a single step before pausing, staying in his one little spot of light.

He finds himself wanting to ask if the thief is alright, but he did just agree to pretend not to witness what just happened. Immediately asking about it would not be honoring his request. Marik unexpectedly saw him vulnerable and it unsettled them both, but the urge to ask what the thief must have been dreaming about is hard to fight.

He swallows it down and walks after him in silence.

Later, the thief picks the lock to a house with electricity and leaves the lights on as Marik sleeps. Marik is pretty sure the thief spends the rest of the night awake.

* * *

"Can you teach me how to pick locks?" Marik asks out of the blue. It might make more sense to ask while the thief is actually doing it, rather than just when they're walking through the street in the middle of the day.

"Nah," is his answer. Marik frowns.

"Why not? Would I not be more useful if I knew?"

"You're a novice, you won't be more useful than me at anything like that for a long time. Besides, I don't need you getting so good at thievery that you think you don't need me anymore."

"A novice, huh?" Marik repeats, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, don't be mad. You know it's true."

"So if I were to, say, try to steal something in your presence, you would definitely notice?" As he speaks, Marik can't help the smug smile that tugs at his lips.

"Of course I would notice. Why, do you think you're stealing something from me?"

"No, you're right. You'd have to be an _idiot_ not to notice me stealing something not ten feet away from you..."

The thief crosses his arms.

"Marik."

"I'd say your name back, but you won't give me the privilege."

"What are you getting at?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just agreeing with you, is all. There's no way a master thief like you wouldn't notice a novice like me stealing."

"Marik, empty your pockets."

"What's the point? Clearly, there's nothing in them!"

For once, Marik is smiling but the thief is not.

"I can't tell if this is the most idiotic bluff I've ever heard or if you've actually done something," he says.

"Oh, even the king of thieves can't tell?"

"... H-heheh."

The thief cracks a smile and waves dismissively.

"You're lucky I like you," he says. Marik won't admit it out loud, but the admission fills him with some soft form of pride.

That whole exchange may have spoiled the surprise of the ring, though. Marik supposes he'll have to wait a while longer to present it-- he has to be certain that the thief won't be expecting it.

"Sick of traveling for today," the thief complains suddenly, stopping to lean against the side of a building. "The coast is still several cities away. We'll be taking a train."

Marik's legs have been sore since halfway through the second day, and he's lost track of how long he's been on the move now. It's the most exercise he's gotten in his entire life, but he doesn't dare take it for granted, even if he's grateful that the train ride will give him time to rest. The thief's expression changes inexplicably, and Marik is about to ask why he's glaring when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me... Sorry to bother you, son, but what's your name?" an elderly man asks. Marik almost answers, but the thief steps between them.

"We don't have time for introductions," he says before grabbing Marik by the wrist and leading him away.

"What... was that about?" Marik wonders aloud, looking over his shoulder at the old man, who has not given chase.

"Doesn't matter. Don't go giving your name out to strangers." The thief sighs, sounding more like a growl than an exhalation. "Guess we can't stop moving yet."

"I'm not a little kid, you know," Marik says. The thief lets him pull away from his grasp.

"I thought you wanted me to be your bodyguard?"

"Well..."

"You don't think your family put out a bounty for you? You don't think that old man was trying to confirm your identity before he went running to them?"

Shit, he's right. Marik hadn't thought of it yet, but it makes sense.

"A bounty... That makes me sound like a criminal," he says. The thief laughs.

"That's because you are one, sunshine!"

Maybe it should bother him. Maybe the thief's laughter is contagious. It brings a smile to Marik's face and a chuckle out of him.

"It suits me, I think," he says. "You must be a bad influence."

The thief grins at him, baring his teeth.

"Please, as if you weren't begging me to take you along."

"That just goes to show how early you got into my head! After all, how could such a clueless, innocent boy be a criminal mastermind?"

"Alright, now you're giving yourself too much credit," the thief snorts. "If anyone here is a criminal mastermind, it'll sooner be me than you."

Marik's eyes narrow with his smile.

"You'll see."

* * *

That night, Marik sits in a bright living room while he waits for the thief to get out of the shower. He knows he has food on him, but he refuses to leave Marik alone with his robe. He probably has all sorts of stolen goods and weapons in there, and Marik can admit that he'd be curious enough to rifle through it. The thief made a good call.

The thief picked this house because he learned that the owners were away for the week. They're not at risk of being discovered for quite some time. They could even stay for several days, if they didn't have a destination in mind that they were both increasingly eager to reach.

It's looking like Marik's family is indeed coming after him, and he's just starting to realize that he's putting the thief in danger by relying on him for protection. Marik reasonably assumes that the thief can handle himself in a fight, but the issue he's seeing is that there wouldn't _be_ a fight if Marik weren't around. If the thief ever gets tired of the extra danger, the extra baggage, he might up and abandon Marik.

Maybe he hasn't been very good company, either. The thief has a tendency to tease, to be a smartass, so Marik can't help but respond in kind. But is he wrong for that? Is he pushing his luck? Should he suppress himself and pretend to be someone else, someone more pleasant?

Marik inhales sharply when he hears the bathroom door open, but he doesn't budge. He certainly doesn't wrench his stare from the empty dog bed in the corner of the room.

"What now?" the thief asks. Marik doesn't answer at first.

"Nothing. Just bored," he lies.

The thief stands in front of him. When Marik gets up, just to go be alone in the shower, he pushes him right back down onto the couch.

"What?!" Marik instinctively snaps.

""Just bored". Do you think I'm an idiot? If you don't want to tell me, just say so. Feeding me these weak lies..."

Marik grits his teeth. It's hard not to be an asshole when the thief also happens to be one.

"Fine, then. I don't want to tell you," he says. The thief rolls his eyes, but he lets Marik get up this time.

His anger dissipates with each step he takes, and he stops before he's left the room.

"Thanks, by the way," he says, voice close to a mutter.

"For what?"

"Everything. For saving me, for feeding me, for protecting me... everything."

Marik thinks of Rishid, and he strongly regrets not saying those same words to him. Maybe Rishid would be on Marik's side, too. Maybe he could have come along with him and the thief.

"Ah, so that's what it was." The thief's voice has a smug, mischievous lilt to it. "Just getting sentimental in the middle of the night. Happens to the best of us."

"You know, you have a great talent for ruining the moment," Marik quips at him.

"H-heheh."

Regardless of what could have been, this is all Marik has now-- his sole companion and whatever he feels like providing Marik with. He still wonders why the thief bothers, and remembering that there is likely a bounty on his head worries him in more ways than one. Marik starts thinking of a backup plan just in case the thief decides to cash in on it. He's supposed to be able to rely on his family, after all, and Rishid has more than proven himself reliable in the past.

The thief has already seen the epitaph on his back, so Marik doesn't bother putting a shirt on yet when he exits the bathroom. He's still distracted by his thoughts, idly patting spots of his hair dry with the towel around his shoulders.

"Why do you always take the sofa?" he asks-- an absolutely insignificant question in comparison to everything else on his mind, but it's what comes out.

"Wanna be closer to the door. If the bed were closer, I'd kick your highness out of it, no problem," he replies with an arrogant smirk.

"But we're safe here, aren't we?"

"Who knows? It's best to stay on guard."

On the television, a doctor is making an incision on a struggling man. Marik doesn't let himself observe any more than that, instead opting to turn around and head to the kitchen. There's more in there now, which Marik knows is thanks to the thief. The homeowners of course didn't bother shopping for food just to leave it unattended in the house for a week.

He hears the channel change behind him and figures it's safe to come out, bringing a little container of some sort of rectangular pieces of food with him. The label says it's called basbousa.

"Skipping straight to dessert, hm?" the thief notes.

Dessert? This doesn't look like the occasional treat he'd be allowed in the tombs. Marik works at getting the container open, tearing tape and popping the corners up and off of the tray. An unfamiliar, sweet smell greets him.

The thief takes a piece and Marik follows suit. Marik tries to rein himself in, but he actually gets a little excited at the taste of it. It's better than any "desserts" he had underground, and that's including the hard candies Ishizu would sometimes get ahold of for him.

It must be written on his face, because the thief chuckles at him.

"Good, isn't it?" he says, harmless enough. Better than teasing him.

"It is," Marik readily agrees. "Can we get this more often?"

"Sure. I'll pick it up when I see it." He pauses for a moment as he finishes another slice. "You'll love Italy. Europeans have all sorts of pastries."

A small smile finds its way onto Marik's face. Their little journey feels a bit less like running away and more like taking a vacation. Marik had only heard about those until now, and he used to pester Ishizu as to why he couldn't just "take a vacation" from being underground when he was little. He scoffs at his younger self.

His eyes wander to the thief, and to his scar. He sets the tray of basbousa down and turns his back to the thief, showing him his own scars.

"Is there anything you want to know about this?" he asks, and then he turns enough to point an index finger at the thief's face, where the scar runs through his eye and across his cheek. "Because I want to know about that."

"Very subtle, sunshine. Not demanding at all," the thief chides. "What if I don't want to know your _back_ story?"

Marik almost responds right away, but pauses.

"Why did you say it like that?"

A smile slowly grows into a grin on the thief's face. Marik squints at him until he gets the stupid pun and rolls his eyes.

"You're an idiot," he says. The thief just laughs, evidently proud of himself. He starts talking as he's calming down from his fit of laughter.

"Ahh, it's because of where I was born. That town has a history of poverty and thievery, and being targeted for slaughter." His words conflict greatly with his light, pleasant tone of voice. "Deepest shit I've ever been in was whenever authorities found out where I'm from. It's like they just suddenly... stop being human as soon as they hear the name. Sleeper agents, the lot of them."

His voice isn't so light anymore, and his charming smile has fallen.

"I think I was... six... seven, maybe eight, when I got this," he says, tapping his cheek like the other night. Speaking of the other night...

"But what does that have to do with the pharaoh?" Marik asks.

"The history of Kul Elna and the pharaoh's family are deeply intertwined. Maybe it's not the _current_ pharaoh who did this to me, but it's the culmination of consequences to his ancestors' actions that still echo into this era."

"That's funny... It's the pharaoh's "family legacy" that did this to me, too," Marik says, and he sees the thief lean in to get a closer look at the carvings. "It's basically the legend of one of his ancestors, from three thousand years ago."

"H-haha! Mine goes back that far, too!"

"I hope they all rot," Marik growls, and he's glad that he's finally talking to someone who agrees wholeheartedly.

"Neither of us are destined to be free. We were just born into unlucky situations," the thief muses, eyes glued to the ceiling now. "It's a good thing I don't follow rules, or that might mean something to me."

Marik actually laughs at that, and the thief's head practically snaps to him. Then, he blinks slowly and a warm smile spreads across his face. Marik finds it mesmerizing.

"... I think it's about bed time," the thief speaks up as he tears his eyes away from Marik, seemingly unfreezing time for them.

"Fine, shoo me away, then..."

Marik pretends to complain, but he's still in a much better mood than he was before. He takes one last slice of the basbousa with him as he goes to find a shirt and get ready for bed.


	5. Sun and Moon

Marik easily let the thief take care of the train arrangements, as he would have no idea how to set it up himself. He later feels a bit silly when the thief tells him that all he did was purchase two tickets.

"What, your highness couldn't possibly deign to talk with the common folk long enough to buy a ticket?"

"Correct," Marik says in an attempt to stop the thief's teasing. He just laughs at his response.

"It seems that, somehow, wandering the country without a home has made you _less_ humble! Who would have thought?"

It's not entirely intentional when Marik ignores him-- the train station has a lot of people and a lot of noise, and he's starting to feel a bit lost.

"This way."

The thief's voice brings Marik back to Earth, and he follows him immediately. A long, tube-like vehicle lies in wait, and Marik stops just to try to see how long it is. The thief tugs his ear to get his attention and Marik slaps a hand over it, scowling at the smirk on the thief's face.

The inside of the train seems a bit cramped and is lined with asymmetrical seats; rows of two on one side with single seats on the other. Marik is sure to stick close to the thief so they don't get separated, and he grits his teeth and sighs when the thief chuckles at him for clinging.

"We'll find out soon whether or not you're prone to motion sickness," he says. "Let me know immediately if you start to feel sick."

"Why, so you can make a joke about it?"

"So I can prevent you from throwing up on me, actually, but also so I can make a joke about it," he adds with a smile.

Marik sticks his tongue out at him. He supposes they can't really discuss their plans here, considering the train is filling with people who could potentially overhear their conversation. A mostly empty street in a small town is nothing, but all Marik sees here are potential enemies.

It's hot in the train, but the thief stubbornly keeps his robe on. It's a rare day where he's chosen to actually wear a shirt under it, so nobody would even fuss over him taking it off. Unless, of course, any stolen goods just so happen to get jostled loose... Maybe he'd better keep it on.

Soon, the train's doors close and it starts moving. It's unusual for him, and even though he's fantasized for so long about traveling on a motorcycle, which _has_ to be more dangerous considering how exposed the rider would be, he finds himself clutching the thief's sleeve for comfort. He quickly gets over his apprehension, though, and lets go of the sleeve to frame the window with his hands, twisting in his seat to watch the scenery pass by. As the train gains speed, it only becomes more interesting to watch.

It occurs to Marik that he has no idea how long this ride is supposed to take. He hopes they'll be here all day, at least.

"Like it so far?" the thief asks.

"Absolutely..." Marik's response feels so lofty and far away, his voice filled with his own wonder.

He turns to the thief to ask him something, but stops when he sees that he's smiling at Marik again. It's that warm smile, the one that he always refuses to explain.

"What..?" Marik tries, but the thief just shakes his head and looks away, his smile becoming a little more typical for him as he pretends the back of the seat in front of him is more interesting than the window.

He still doesn't take the window's view for granted, but he ends up looking to the thief more and more frequently. He's sitting with his arms crossed and his head leaned back, resting his eyes. Marik follows an inexplicable urge to place a hand on the thief's shoulder and rest his chin on it. The thief opens his eyes just to smirk at him and he tilts his head away to make room for him. Eventually, Marik pulls his hand away and rests his cheek directly on the thief's shoulder.

After only a few hours-- nowhere near as long as Marik had been hoping-- the train begins to slow to a halt. The inertia suggesting a direction for his body to move in while Marik is quite certain he's sitting still makes his stomach flip a little, and he worries he might be getting motion sick at the last second. The feeling dissipates as the train stops completely, though, and Marik takes a deep breath as he watches the strangers around him prepare to disembark. He clings to the thief again when they get off the train, and during their walk through the platform.

Looking up at the darkening sky still unsettles Marik, but he's grateful that they arrived at the port city of Alexandria so late in the afternoon. It's absolutely gorgeous-- he sees lights of all colors everywhere. The thief had them avoiding major cities this whole time, and Marik almost wants to yell at him for it now, if all big cities look like this.

Trusting that the thief will stick by his side, Marik lets his excitement lead him running into the city. There are too many sights to take in all at once, and he has no idea where to begin. One of the times that he pauses to look around, the thief grabs his hand. Marik expects to be led out of view, but the thief sticks to the streets and allows Marik to keep looking around while he leads him... somewhere. He doesn't care to ask, he's much too busy trying to mentally gauge how tall some of these buildings are.

As they approach the shore, Marik gets excited again and runs forward, grabbing onto a railing and looking out at the open sea. Aside from the sunrise, it might be the most amazing thing he's ever seen. The thief slides up beside him and Marik quickly turns to him. Strangely, once his eyes land on the thief's face, bathed in the fading sunset and the city lights, he can't bring himself to look anywhere else. His smile fades into an expression of gentle surprise, only to return with renewed purpose when he sees the thief offer a smile of his own to the sea.

Beautiful... As soon as the word crosses his mind, so does a memory. Almost as if to keep his trait of ruining perfectly good moments with his inane jokes, the thief calling Marik a "pretty boy" replays in his head.

"... Hypocrite," he mumbles. The thief gives him a curious glance, even a little tilt of the head, and the tiny gesture somehow manages to set Marik's blood on fire.

Wait. The ring! He almost forgot about it. Marik reaches for the pocket he knows it's in, and nerves start eating at him, holding his hand at bay. What if the thief doesn't even like the damn thing, and it ends up being Marik who ruins the moment this time?

In that case, he'll just do what the thief does: play it off with a joke.

"Do you still think you would _definitely_ notice me stealing?" he brings up, and the thief's pleasant expression drops.

"This again."

"Just thought I'd take a moment to prove you wrong, is all."

He slips the ring out of his pocket just as the thief is turning to fully face him.

"Where are you even planning..."

He stops completely when he sees what's in Marik's outstretched hand. The crescent glints in the light. The thief has no words.

With his left hand, Marik lifts the thief's own and clasps his right over his palm. He lets his hand linger for a moment before pulling away. The thief picks the ring up off of his palm, holding it up to the brightest light.

"... Why... this..?" he asks softly.

"Hello? I was expecting praise," Marik says, bringing the mood back to Earth of his own will. "I took this right behind your back. You even stopped to wait for me, so you can't say you forgot I was there."

The thief slides the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand, twisting it until the moon and star both display perfectly on the back of his finger.

"Alright, fine. You win this time, Marik," he admits. "You got me."

Marik knows he's got a smarmy grin on his face, but he doesn't care at all to hide it.

"... Mind if I get you back?" the thief asks, an equally smug smile taking over his face. Marik isn't sure he likes the sound of that.

"What, am I missing something?"

"Not yet. I'm thinking of stealing from you," he states outright.

"Bold. I'm guessing you think there's nothing I can do to stop you?"

The thief steps closer, which seems unnecessary considering they are already quite close. Then he takes another step. Marik leans back over the railing, eyeing the thief suspiciously as he just keeps inching closer. The thief leans over him, arms crossed and brushing against Marik's chest now.

Oh.

"It's not an object you want, is it?" Marik gathers. His heart pounds as he waits for the thief to close the distance.

He chuckles and pulls back just enough to stand up straight.

"I'd be careful about how much freedom you give me," he warns. "You know I won't hesitate to take what I want."

Marik wishes that were true. The thief can pretend he's just teasing Marik all he likes, but he's clearly been testing the waters, seeing how much he can get away with. A good thief wouldn't go in over his head and compromise his objective, after all.

"I think you haven't been taking enough," Marik challenges, hoping he's sealed his fate

"Oh, you'll regret that."

Quicker than Marik can register, the thief manages to get one hand behind his head, one on his chest, and he's caught Marik in a kiss that feels much too good to be true. Marik's hands fist in the thief's robe, holding him in place when he tries to break away. They start and stop maybe thirty times before Marik finally loosens his grip to pull away for air. Even the thief is out of breath.

In that moment, Marik desperately wants a name to call the thief, just so he can taste the sound of it, but he still hasn't fucking given it to him.

"Tell me your name," he demands.

The thief just sighs and moves his hands to the railing behind Marik.

"Are you kidding me?! You'll kiss me, but you won't tell me your name?!"

"I don't have one," the thief says quietly. "Wasn't lucky enough to have a family."

This takes Marik completely by surprise. He sort of wants to apologize, even though he couldn't have known... but pity isn't really something he cares for, personally.

"Well, why haven't you picked a name yet?" Marik asks instead, all pretend-huffy as if to adhere to the persona the thief accuses him of having.

He seems to appreciate it more than pity, judging by the smile that quirks his lips as his eyes close.

"Guess I never really saw a point. I've talked to you during this little journey more than I've ever talked to a single person before in my life. There was no need to introduce myself to anyone, because I don't linger in anyone's life."

"Well, you're certainly lingering in my life."

The idea of giving the thief a nickname based on the moon comes up in Marik's mind again.

"... How about Qamar?" he suggests without looking at the thief. "Since you call me sunshine."

"... H-heheh."

"What's so funny?"

Marik's eyes are narrowed in minor annoyance when he looks at him again, but they widen at the sight of the genuine smile on the thief's face.

"It has a piece of your name in it, you egotistical bastard," he says, contradicting his happy expression.

"... Well, excuse me! I didn't invent the language!" Marik huffs, annoyed again.

"Don't be mad. I like it."

This gives Marik pause.

"Then introduce yourself to me," he says. The thief chuckles and takes a few steps back, only to sidle right up to Marik again.

"So sorry, but I couldn't help but notice such a gorgeous thing out here on his own. My name is Qamar, how about you?"

Marik wants to roll his eyes, but he just laughs. The thief... Qamar joins him. When they kiss again, it's soft and gentle. Qamar breaks away to press his lips against Marik's cheek, just resting there. Marik can feel him smiling.

He wishes this moment could last forever, but he supposes he can just pester Qamar for a kiss whenever he wants now.

"You really are a hypocrite," Marik murmurs to him. "For me, all you do is give."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was fully prepared to write more, but my muse decided to end it here. thank you for reading, and please let me know your thoughts in either the comments or my ask box on tumblr..! i'm frozencinders on there too.


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